This is the strange story of my uncle, the writer Albert Palmerson, who died peacefully over fifteen years ago. I should put “peacefully” in scare quotes because Uncle Albert maintained that he died for the first time twelve years prior to this, and far less calmly.
Continue reading “The Fall and Rise of Uncle Albert by David Rudd”
“I’m fed up watching the news. Seemingly, the queen’s still dead.”
“That’s six months now and they’re still harping on about it. I can’t remember the last time I bought a paper.”
Continue reading “A Conversation About The Sixties by Hugh Cron (Adult Content)”
When you read this, I will most likely be dead.
The night is biting and cold against my naked skin. The rope is impossibly tight around my ankles, set on digging its way down to the bone.
I am not sure anymore, what will kill me first; The cold , the starved predators of the forest or my own people.
Now, before I tell you my story, I want you to know, that I am nothing like the terrible things you might have heard about me.
Continue reading “The Hive by Rania Hellal”
His studio apartment sits downtown. It’s late morning. He puts on blue jeans, a black T-shirt and sits in his writing chair, his only chair. With no socks on, he looks down at his yellowed toenails. He prints out his three completed manuscripts. He walks over and clears off the mahogany wood table he picked up cheap. It has served him for writing, eating, and mail. His futon mattress is only a few feet away. He moves the table into the center of the room scraping it along the floor.
Continue reading “The Unknown Writer by Douglas Robbins”
In this impersonal age of cyber friends (like me), witch hunters who never meet in person and gaining the gospel from unholy sources David Henson’s My Powdered Friend is a satire that is uncomfortably close to being true. As in much of David’s work, he takes a bright, keen, even flippant tone, which intensifies the darker themes. And he has the great knack of making you believe just about anything.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – My Powdered Friend by David Henson”
Advice
I believe that doctors, mechanics and everyone else whose work alters material objects should always listen to advice offered by their peers and seek it when in doubt. “Dr. Smith, I know I am only assisting–but is there a reason to leave a scalpel in the patient?”; “Hey boss, we got some doo-hickeys left over from that 737 engine we just serviced–you think that means something?” Indeed there are situations when ego should be set aside, but I do not believe that is always the best policy in works of imagination.
Continue reading “Week 418- Advice; Action; Distraction”
Rob peered out from behind the Sunday sports section. Across the room he observed his wife Shelia, doing some sort of handwork with tiny needles. Crocheting, maybe? He didn’t know. Had no clue. Didn’t care. She was dressed in a teal blue, floral print skirt and a white peasant blouse. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her full lips and high cheekbones, once so beguiling to him, were now anything but, just plain and unremarkable, nothing to write home about. He sighed and turned back to check on the baseball scores but only for a minute. He was having trouble concentrating. I wonder, he thought to himself, If today’s the day I tell her I’m thinking of leaving.
Continue reading “Maybe I’ll Grow A Beard by Jim Bates”
He’s back.
Who’s back, I say.
Him from Nandos. He’s back again.
Our blinds are almost closed – Dave likes to keep them closed even in the day – but now he’s pulled one strip down so he can see through.
He’s handed something over.
Can we get something from Nandos?
No.
Continue reading “Rear Window by Michael Hutchinson”
Mickey Monroe was thrilled that the fence around the Critical Research Compound had been blown down by the windstorm the previous night. He lived just a couple of blocks away and had been tempted by the beautiful pool that was reserved for employees and families only, for as long as he could remember. The patterned tile, the light emanating from within the pool, and the spectacular statues of nudes and mythical animals fascinated him. The men and women who swam there dispelled any idea of homely science nerds. Some days he would stare at the women in their barely there suits, until he was noticed at which time he would saunter off. The kids at his high school hinted of orgies after dark, but he could never confirm the rumors despite frequently trying.
Continue reading “Pool Of Dreams by Doug Hawley”
literally stories 